


Chocolate Milk and Good Excuses

by shifter_goddess



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Canon-typical Cursing, LGBTQ Character of Color, M/M, Male Character of Color, Mentioned Grimmons, intersex Kai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-01 23:56:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4039585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shifter_goddess/pseuds/shifter_goddess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“yes, i know this is a bar but you’re a rlly hot bartender and i panicked and said “cHOCOLATE MILK” when you asked me what i wanted to drink, now i just want to crawl away and hide forever” au</i><br/><br/>Tuckington Bartender AU ft. bartender Wash, tongue-tied Tucker, and the Red and Blue leaders egging people into things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chocolate Milk and Good Excuses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [themisslulub](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=themisslulub).



“Oh my God, go fucking talk to him already, Jesus.” Church’s voice jerked Tucker out the semi-stupor he’d drifted into...again.

“What?” His voice cracked; Tucker persevered anyway. “Wha, haha, talk to who? Cuz, Church, dude, if you think I’m gonna hit on Donut --”

Church snorted in derision; Sarge, obviously listening in, shook his head slowly, mockingly. Dammit; what was his bad-ass macho-ness coming to when he couldn’t even fool the Reds? “Uh, no, man. You know I’m talking about the _other_ bartender. The one you’ve been drooling over ever since he stripped down to just a pair of shorts on leg day? You, know, Wash? Don’t try and play stupid with me, Tuck, I get enough of the genuine shit from Caboose.”

“And Grif.” Sarge interjected.

“And Grif.” Church added, agreeably non-pulsed.

“Church, my buddy, my pal, my friend, would I ever -”

“Yes.”

“-- _would I ever_ , excuse you, not done, suck a dick? I’m way too manly for that shit, _please_!” Tucker laughed.

“You told me you and Grif bonded over your first girlfriends’ having dicks. So I’m gonna go with yeah.”

“Y-you swore you’d never mention that, goddammit, Church, you asshole!” Seethed Tucker, open-mouthedly gaping at his friend in betrayal until Church punched him in the shoulder.

“I’ll buy you whatever you order from Wash - _after_ you ask him out. To make up to you.”

“...Fiiiiine.”

\--------------------

“Hey.”

“Uh, hi, Tucker.” Wash glanced up from cleaning out the shot glass he’d been holding. Tucker flushed. Had he always had such nimble fingers? He bet Wash knew just what to do with them, too, a guy like him ...Who the fuck was _he_ , thinking about nimble fingers? _Fantasizing_ about them? 

“I’ve been hanging around Donut for too long..” Tucker groaned to himself.

“...What?” _Aaand_ now Wash was squinting at him, in that concerned way he got, like after Carolina got heat-stroke, or Caboose accidentally threw a car engine through the apartment railing.

“Uh, nothing. I was just - thirsty.” He waved a hand, dismissing his mumbling, before mentally kicking himself. Yes, yes he was, and it was so obvious even fucking _Sarge_ could see it. Ugh.

“Speeeeaking of thirsty~” Donut trilled, popping up from behind the counter; Tucker shouted and stumbled back; Washington, closer, nearly decked the effeminate man.

“Donut, go see if they got someone in the glory hole, would you?” Tucker hissed. His smooth entrance, ruined! Christ, with friends like him, who needed enemies to ruin getting into someone’s pants? Tucker raised his eyebrows as Donut smirked at him, eyeballed Wash speculatively, then swished off towards the bathrooms.

“ _Ooo_ kay. Not enough alcohol in the world to get that image out of my mind.” The former agent mocked a shudder, grinning at Tucker before changing the subject. “What do you wanna drink, Tucker, anyway? I _am_ a bartender, you know.”

...Fuck. Fuckity fucking _fuck_ , what did he want to drink? Tucker’s mind went blank. How could he not know? Shit, now he’d taken too long, Wash definitely thought he was a loser who didn’t know how to answer normal questions, dammit, brain, work, what’s a good drink, c’mon, something that’ll _impress him_ \--

“Chocolate milk!”

The blank look on Wash’s tan faced made Tucker wince, appalled at his dumb-ass brain, before the other man broke into a crooked grin. “Yeah? Good choice.” The wink he threw made Tucker’s galloping heart flutter. “Gotta keep those bones and muscles strong for leg day!”

Tucker snorted a laugh, leaning against the bar’s edge, weak with relief that he hadn’t been called a loser and summarily kicked from Washington’s phone contacts. “Haha, yeah, totally. You know I gotta keep up the calves.”

Wash smiled at him, and Tucker took the opportunity to admired the other mans’ ass when he turned and walked to the mini-fridge to grab milk and chocolate syrup. Damn, he’d need to find some excuse to jog behind Wash instead of next to him next time they went running, Tucker decided. He could bounce a quarter off that ass. _Mmm…_

\--------------------

_Three Days Later..._

 

“Listen, man, I’m just saying, it’s weird.” Everyone had been invited to Church’s apartment - because his was the biggest - for an end-of-the-week party. Naturally, Tucker had found a way to suavely ask Washington to come over, too. (If ‘suave’ could be applied to 3AM texts with the word ‘bro’ involved.) Leaning against the hallway railing, he was only half-listening to the conversations going on around them; the door had been left open, so everyone could flow in and out as they pleased (Freckles, of course, safely locked away in the bedroom).

“I _told_ you, she’s not a zombie -- Lopez only knocked her out! It was a translation fuckup!” Another argument about Kai, then, and Tucker was only paying attention to Grif and Simmons argument because Wash was - although he was mostly just covertly checking out Wash in between forced conversation with everyone else, plus a knowing thumbs-up from Church - and, horrifyingly, Carolina.

“No, not that, Jesus, I meant the part where your sister’s a she-male.”

“Okay, first off, she’s intersex, and secondly, I told you I’d kick your ass if you called her shit again, motherfucker --”

“Ow! Fuck, dude, get the fuck off me, goddammit, Grif, ow --!” There was a meaty thud! as Simmons was tackled onto the floor; Texas and Donut prudently stepped out of range of flailing limbs.

“Should we...do something?” Wash asked, sounding mildly concerned. As concerned as someone could sound, holding their third glass of hard lemonade with a curly straw stuck in it.

“Nah. They’re head over heels for each other, they’ll work it out.” Tucker said, dismissively. “It’s how they show affection.”

“Hey, Simmons, I’ll give ya ten bucks if you ‘accidentally’ kill Grif!” Sarge cheered. Tucker eyed the larger man, and the bottle of whiskey he held loosely in one hand. The cops and EMT’s were starting to memorize their names; letting Sarge give himself alcohol poisoning wouldn’t improve their outlook on the apartment residents’, he was willing to bet.

“Make it twenty, you’ve got a deal, sir!” Then again, neither would attempted homicide, but that happened on a weekly basis.

Tucker snorted; he elbowed Wash when he noticed the other man was smiling at their antics. “Hey, not so bad even _with_ everyone here, huh?”

“Heh, yeah, at least this time I got here before they brought the Warthog over. I still haven't gotten the tire-treads out of that shirt from the last time.” Wash’s smile spread into a full-blown grin and Tucker felt his stomach flip-flop.

Tucker laughed at the joke, glancing down then back at Wash as he took another sip of his drink. Were they suddenly standing closer together? When had that happened? Jesus, he could _feel_ the heat radiating off of Washington. The former soldier felt his ‘inner Church’ nudge him, and Tucker mentally crossed his fingers and hoped for the best. “Hey, uh, Wash - you wanna get out of here? My apartment is definitely quieter than this.” He gestured loosely at the surrounding mix of frenemies.

Wash blinked, flicked his eyes away as if deciding on something and then back before he nodded, setting his drink down on the railing carefully.

“Yeah, let’s get out of here.”


End file.
